A Forgotten Hero
by Astaria zen Esperansa
Summary: Buffy died twice, so there should be another slayer. What happened to her? Who was she? How did she live? What sacrifices did she make? Where was she during Season 7? Nothing special, but I'd love to improve it. Please R
1. Chapter 1

**A Forgotten Hero**

Until I was thirteen years old I heard nothing of vampires or demons. Until I was thirteen I was happy, I suppose. I didn't know it at the time, but my problems were small. School, friends, clothes, that sort of thing. How I envy my thirteen-year-old self.

Sure, I was the class geek and didn't have an easy time of it, but that was the worst of my troubles.

Then everything changed. It was a few days before my fourteenth birthday that it happened. Of course, I didn't know at first. I mean, how often do you test the limits of your strength? But in the end it was hard to miss.

I used to do karate. Not anymore, of course. My strength would stand out too much. Well, I went into my class thinking everything was normal. Laughed with my friends, tried to learn the Japanese I should've learnt a week ago, and generally made a fool of myself. That day is burnt into my memory forever. Every detail is sharp; I couldn't forget if I wanted to. It was my last normal day.

I hit the girl I was fighting. It was an accident! I swear I didn't mean it, I just didn't know how strong I was. I didn't mean to hurt her. I…Oh God, that wasn't even my full strength. I pulled the kick back just as I made contact. Poor little thing, I knocked her half way across the room. My instructors were quite rightfully furious. We're not supposed to try to _kill_ each other. Not in class. I was set fifty press-ups, and told to consider the possible out comes of my carelessness. I did them with ease. It was then that I knew something had changed.

It was then that I knew I was a slayer. Of course, I didn't know the word, but from then on I began to create a definition of my own.

To me it meant power, and responsibility. Fear, confusion. Danger. Adventure. A chance to change the world.

I was both right and wrong, I suppose.


	2. Chapter 2

My fourteenth birthday was spent in tears. I'd resigned from karate. It seems insignificant now, though it felt important at the time. From where I am now, crying over things like that is just babyish. I did know it was much too dangerous for me to stay, that's why I left. I acted tough, but it still hurt. I said goodbye to my friends, crossed my name off the register, and left. They were my _only_ friends. And I mean _only_.

I've not seen them since. It's such a tight knit group that I'd never fit in now I've left. That was my first choice as a slayer.

I wanted to tell my parents what had happened, but the right moment never appeared. I kept putting it off, and with every passing day it got harder. Harder to keep silent, but also harder to tell. Secrecy became a habit.

I'm surprised I never injured anyone in a fit of rage. I wanted to use my strength _all the time;_ I could've done so much good. I could've done anything I wanted, but good intentions wouldn't make it right. Might does _not_ make right.

Or does it? Surely the ability to act confers the responsibility to do so. Maybe I should've stepped forward, all those times I let things slide.

That's just getting too complex for me. I'll leave it at- _I did nothing 'cause it seemed __l__ike a good idea at the time._ OK?

Of course, I wasn't just logically thinking the situation through; I'm not a machine. All of this was mixed up with sheer disbelief. An unspoken hope that if I just ignored it all long enough it'd go away.

I never believed in the super-natural, but in the end I found myself trawling internet sites for information; searching frantically for the vaguest of hints. For any single clue as to what I was. What I'd become.

I found absolutely nothing about slayers. Not a single word. There was some other stuff, but not much I could actually trust. Vampires seemed to crop up everywhere, and the methods for killing them remained similar. I read for hours every day, researching countless demons, and getting more paranoid by the minute.

For a while I thought I was turning into a demon myself. I thought I might hurt my family, kill them, even. My parents, my baby sister… I couldn't let it happen. That's when I left home. You could say I ran away from my problems, and I wouldn't argue. I did leave a note; told them not to worry. Said I had some things to sort out and I'd be back when I could. Not that they listened- there was a full scale search- but I couldn't disappear without giving them some sort of explanation. It wouldn't be fair.

I'm must have driven my parents mad with grieve. I wonder, now, what they thought had happened, but I doubt I'll ever know. I'm never going back, not now. My family's in the past; water under the bridge. A weakness. Something that can be used to hurt me.

And then I really was alone in the world. Being a slayer meant sacrifice. Having to give up the things that were most important.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks later I fought my first vampire.

It was a still winter night. My breath formed clouds of mist in the icy air, as I shivered in scanty clothes, wishing for my warm bed in a centrally heated house. I was camped in an abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere. A lonely place it was, far removed from society. With floorboards that creaked and a leaky roof. Dark rooms filled with cobwebs. No running water. No electricity.

A house that seemed to hold a million ghosts. In the world of my imagination every shadow held a different demon, each one new and terrifying. I couldn't sleep at night, and when I did, my dreams where haunted by a shapeless evil.

I'm lucky I was so fearful. A less wary girl would've died there, in a forgotten corner of the world. Killed in my sleep. Not preventing an apocalypse, not in a brave and noble move, not even trying to save my own sorry life.

I was woken in the night, all at once, rigid with fear. My sanctuary had been broken; something was moving about downstairs. It would've been so easy to dispel me fears, say it was just paranoia. But another, louder noise confirmed my suspicions. A soft clunk that echoed through the house.

I froze in terror, unable to think, my breath racing. I lay still, not daring to move. It was all I could think of, to lie still and hope it would go away. Maybe it's a dream. I'll wake up and…I'll still be here. Nothing will have changed; I'm waiting to be killed off. This is my life, and it'll stay this way forever. I pressed my face into the rough cover of my blanket to muffle my tears. Crying. Again. I did want to be brave, but it was too hard. I was in a strange place far from home, without all the little things; cooked food, spare clothes, a flush toilet, _people_. Even people that hated me would be better than this.

In a way those thoughts comforted me. I had to learn about my powers, or I'd be stuck like this. It was worth a risk, to get my life back. There was nothing to fear in death; and besides, I was powerful. I hadn't come here to cower in the dark, whimpering like a child. I'd come here because I was too powerful to be controlled; because I'd become dangerous. Whatever was out there should be scared of me.

Resolutely, I threw the blankets off of me with a hand that shook, hauling myself into a standing position. I reached for my torch and flicked it on, sending a wobbly beam of light across the room. It was enough to light the way, but not enough to drive away the fears of the night, and I longed for proper electric lighting that could cast brilliant light over a whole room.

Furtively, I pulled out the few pieces of demon-hunting equipment I'd put together. A scrappy homemade crucifix, a small rather blunt knife, and a highly sharpened pencil I hoped would do for a stake. Looking them over I sighed despairingly; if this was a demon, I was very dead. Probably it was a stray cat and long gone, but I wasn't going to back out now I'd psyched myself up for a fight.

Silent as a night breeze I drifted down the stairs. Each door I came to I pushed the cross through first, then followed, copying my moves from TV shows. I sighed with relief at every empty room, but felt myself tense further in anticipation. Careful, I intoned wordlessly. Watch and listen and wait. Stay wary, fool. You relax, even for a single second, and you're dead.

My silence was wasted under the circumstances; vampires don't _listen_ for their prey, they _smell_ for their prey. After weeks without being able to wash, I must've been a vampire beacon.

So, unsurprisingly the vampire was ready and waiting for me, stepping out of a shadowy doorway to punch me hard in the temple. It was a ruthless blow that knocked me backwards, but my Karate instructor had long ago kicked into me one, very simple rule. _Never, ever, under any circumstances, drop your guard_. I grumbled about the bruises at the time, but it sure worked. A little thing like my head hurting didn't stop me, not even for an instant. In fact _hurting_ is a real understatement. My right temple felt like it was on fire, the pain seeping steadily into the center of my skull, melting my brain. I could scarcely see, let alone think, through it. It was my whole world for a couple of endless seconds before it receded. But my body knew what to do, even when I didn't.

I responded instinctively, pivoting neatly then kicking him in the back of the knee. Still not knowing my own strength, I almost brought myself down with him. Blood was dripping down my cheek, warm and damp, my head was swimming, and my legs felt like jelly beneath me. But adrenalin was pumping through my body, adding to my stamina, and I forced myself on. We fought for almost an hour, until my clothes were soaked with sweat, and I felt every bruise and scrape.

It took me a long time to remember the pencil, tucked safely in my trouser pocket. You're probably wondering how hard it can be to remember the obvious. I certainly used to; let me tell you, it's damn near impossible. All I could think of at first was not getting hit by each strike as it came. I wasn't planning; I had no time to plan.

Pulling it out I felt its shape in my hand. Learning its weight, its length. It felt hard smooth against my skin, somehow different from how it used to when it was just an innocent drawing tool. I gripped it tight in my hand, squeezing till my hand throbbed with pain. Using the last of my strength I threw him up against a wall, driving the pencil in as hard as I could.

A shoot of joy rushed through me. It was the proudest moment of my life. I was a hero, using my super-powers to fight blood-sucking fiends. I'd been given a chance to do something real, to make a difference.

I turned away, laughing, only to be grabbed viciously from behind and thrown across the room. I crashed into the wall head first, then slid dazed to the floor. Detachedly, as if I was watching a character on TV, or from a book, I thought to myself _The vampire's not dead. Why isn't the vampire dead? _

Gasping, winded, I struggled to my feet. Dark spots covered my vision, like I was about to faint. Any minute now, he'd see my weakness and take me down. I _knew_ I was going to die.

But I couldn't end my last fight flinching, backed up against a wall, terror showing on my face. I wasn't a hero after all, just a victim, but I could die with the only thing I had left. With pride. Swallowing hard, I tried and failed to calm myself. Still weak at the knees, my hands still shaking, bleeding and in pain, I forced myself to through up a final guard.


	4. Chapter 4

We stood staring at each other for long moments, the vampire and me. Neither of us moved, not a muscle, I hardly dared to breath. Seconds ticked by. Half-a-minute. A minute. And still, nothing. Unable even to stand straight any longer I allowed my gaze to slide onto the floor, my eyes half shut.

My ears caught a sudden scurry, followed by a door banging, and footfalls fading off into the night. I blinked stupidly, staring at the spot where my foe had stood. He was just there, towering over me. Bigger, heavier, more experienced. He waited, as if to taunt me with my helplessness. I was right there in front of him, more vulnerable than I can remember being in my whole life. He could have killed me, but he didn't. Why not? Too moral? To stupid?

Too scared?

My mind ticked over a beat. Yes; he was scared. What did I do that most people wouldn't? I tried to stake him; I wasn't surprised by his strength. Maybe, I'm a real threat. One of the few real threats to his life.

If I were him, I'd want a threat like me eliminated. Fast.

My heart beat faster, as I sank to the ground, sliding backwards along the floor, to hide myself behind the door for all the good it would do me. I was still shaking, hugging myself, sobbing dryly. All at once, I could feel each and every bruise. I touched my cheek, and blood came away on my finger tips.

It brought me back to life. I stood, ignoring the screamed protests of my muscles. Forcing myself upstairs I switched on my small, battery-powered kettle. Searching through my few clothes, I picked out a tatty t-shirt to clean my cuts with. Washing it in the boiling water I ripped into shreds. At the bottom of the bag was my precious tube of antiseptic cream, painkillers, and a couple of other things I'm scavenged from home. Dabbing the cream on the worst of my cuts, I carefully wadded the strips of shirt over the still bleeding wound on my cheek.

Normally, I'd have taken something like this to a first-aider to have it checked out. But under the circumstances that was all I could do. My body was still on battle alert, making me reluctant to sleep. But I knew couldn't stay awake forever. Throwing myself to the ground, I fell into a fitful sleep.

That night I dreamt of the vampire; but in my dream he didn't run. In my dream I died, and my sister waited in vain for my return. I woke in a sweat, determined that no vampire would triumph over me.

It was time to go hunting.


	5. Chapter 5

Daylight shone through the windows, chasing away my fears. In the clear light of day, my mind calmed, and my tense muscles began to relax. Sunrise smashed my fears to bits, like it had when I was small. Except I was older now. And the monsters of the night were real.

I chose to hunt vampires in the morning, in the bright sunlight. I wanted every advantage in a fight. My plan was to track the vampire to his lair, and fight him underground by light of day. That way, if necessary, I could run from the fight and come out into the sunlight where he couldn't follow. It was a _good_ plan. Risk free, sensible, and well thought out.

Except for the bit where I tracked a vampire to his lair. And the bit where I managed to beat said vampire in a fight and still be able to walk home. And the bit where I went looking for the thing that was trying to kill me.

So, late that afternoon I was still marching determinedly through the featureless countryside, no closer to staking my vampire. I no longer had a plan, other than not giving up. The day wore on, and it got later and later. I hadn't eaten since that morning. I'd had next to nothing to drink. My head ached, my bruises throbbed, and I was falling-down tired.

But for some reason I didn't turn round. Stubbornness, I suppose. It got later still. The sun began to set. I was miles from anywhere. I didn't have a map or a compass. I couldn't see a thing through the thickening gloom.

It was then that I started to get scared. It should have been earlier, but I'm a fool.

If I met my vampire now I'd be fighting under his terms. In the dark, on ground I didn't know, when I was tired and hungry. I kept walking, as if I no longer controlled my own legs. I stumbled with exhaustion, but kept on walking, for no reason I could understand.

A soft rustle whispered from the undergrowth. I froze solid, not moving, scarcely breathing. I waited that way for a long time, but my patience isn't limitless. In the end I walked on, shrugging the movement off some animal.

Something hit me, hard, just bellow my ribs. I felt no fear; I had no energy left for emotion. I turned fast, my arm only just knocking aside the next strike, but I was given no time to adjust myself. Backing up swiftly I barely held my own. Pivoting carefully I angled my strike. I had one chance and one chance only. My aim ran true, striking my assailant through the heart, wood piercing the skin, and the muscle beneath it.

The vampire gasped in shock, staring at me and my makeshift stake. He cried out in pain; real, human, pain. And called out to the skies, accusingly, _"But I was supposed to live forever!"_

Then his body fell to ashes, blown away on the wind. But his words, and his pain, robbed my victory of joy. I walked the lonely path back to my home, each step an agonizing ordeal.

I ate, and slept, and woke again. Whatever I did his words echoed in my mind, giving me no peace. He was evil. He deserved to die. But I wouldn't agree to kill a human for that; it wouldn't be right. Maybe in self-defence, if they left me like this. I wouldn't have hunted another person down. The vampire, the monster, chose not to kill me in the heat of battle. He struck first, yes. But I would have done the same. That vampire might've killed me, so I killed him. Maybe he felt that way too; maybe _he_ was scared of _me. _

Maybe I am the monster. Maybe, maybe. I wish there was someone to talk to. Too much time alone leads to introspection. I just want to do the right thing; I just want to survive, build a life for myself, without destroying someone else's.

Is that too much to ask? Is it a choice, then, between my life and the lives of countless others?


End file.
